Beyond the Here and Now
by uvcatastrophe
Summary: While traveling to the Von Wincott estate to take up his new position as an instructor, Conrart Weller meets and rescues a stranger who seems to know him. Conrart feels compelled to protect this man, but how can he keep him safe when Yuuri keeps so many secrets? Conrad x Yuuri Time Travel AU that takes place both after season 3 and before Conrad meets Julia.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first story posted in this fandom, so I'm a bit nervous, but this idea just wouldn't leave me alone. This first chapter doesn't have much in terms of exposition, but hopefully all will be explained satisfactorily as we move forward. ****Title is from Trading Yesterday's "One Day".**

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"Conrad!" an unfamiliar voice called.

If the use of a name saved for only his dearest friends hadn't turned his head, the tone of pure relief that only came in the wake of the deepest desperation would have been more than enough.

A young man stood in an alleyway, hands resting on his thighs as he panted, clearly trying to catch his breath. His clothes, for all that they had once been good quality, were torn and dirty. Conrart's eyes narrowed. That wasn't typical wear and tear. Those were the signs of a man who'd been through an ordeal, and recently. He stared at the bent brown head, brows furrowed. Who could this man be?

And then the man looked up, and Conrart knew all at once that they had never met before. That face, those eyes, that smile…he would have remembered. Because for all that something seemed odd about the man's coloring, he was breathtaking.

But as those brown eyes met Conrart's own, they widened in shock, the smile falling away to be replaced by a disbelieving, horrified expression.

"Are you alright?" Conrart asked, moving towards the man automatically.

"Ah…I'm sorry," the man before him said, and Conrart watched as the man attempted and almost succeeded in reconstructing his crumpled expression into something bland. "I thought you were someone I knew. I'm fine. Sorry again for disturbing you,"

The man turned to go, and everything in Conrart cried out in denial. To let anyone go off alone in this state was against his nature. To let the man before him leave at all, let alone like this, caused his very soul to rebel. Conrart closed the space between them with two quick strides, his outstretched hand closing around the boy's shoulder.

The look he received in response immediately had him softening his expression, for all that his grip remained tight.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently.

Conrart never had the chance to hear the man's response, whatever it might have been. Instincts honed through years of traveling with his father and on the front lines of the battlefield had him reacting to the threat before he had fully finished processing it. He pulled the boy back sharply and cut quickly in front of him as he drew his sword.

His instincts had not failed him. No sooner had he positioned himself in front of the stranger, sword at the ready, than three figures appeared in the alleyway, heavily cloaked with covered faces and drawn weapons. At the sight of Conrart, they all froze.

"I thought we'd gotten rid of his protectors," Conrart heard one of them hiss.

This, at least, explained the state of the man's clothes. And a great deal of his desperation. That the man needed protectors said a great deal. That he had been separated from them, by force from the obvious signs, explained a great deal more.

Conrart adjusted his stance to more thoroughly block the man behind him from both view and harm, eyes narrowing and lip curling. If the man was someone in need of protecting, then Conrart would protect him. And Conrart Weller did nothing by halves.

Some of this must have shown in his expression, for the men before him paused. It was the last mistake they ever made. Conrart darted forward, sword parting flesh with the ease of practice, no hesitation on the part of the man who wielded it. The bodies had yet to hit the ground before he returned to his original position. Sword still in hand, he bent over and grabbed the stunned man's arm, yanking him into an upright position.

"Come with me," he said, tone made sharp by the situation. "There could be more of them."

The man looked up at him with wide, wet eyes. Studying his expression at length, he simply nodded.

Conrart tugged the man out of the alley and into the street. The crowds would be the best way to throw off any pursuers. But that meant doing their best to blend in, and to do so he would have to sheath his sword, as much as the thought galled him. He put it off as long as possible, but as their circuitous route finally brought them to the main street, he had no choice.

He spared a moment to curse the mild weather – had it been colder or wetter he might have had a cloak. It would have been put to good use covering Conrart's companion. After all, Conrart was not the one being pursued. Obscuring their true target as much as possible, drawing as little attention to him as possible – both would help Conrart keep him safe.

With this in mind, he reluctantly sheathed his sword. Conrart let his hand drop from around the man's bicep and gripped his hand instead, ignoring the slightly strangled noise the man made as he guided them out into the street. To the rest of the world, they would simply look like a pair of lovers out for a stroll.

There were callouses against his palm, Conrart realized. The fact in and of itself was not surprising; even the most elite of the ten nobles might have marks from sword work. What was surprising was the placement – Conrart was familiar with callouses from hard labor and from sword work both. These corresponded with neither.

It was not his place to wonder, Conrart reminded himself firmly. However, in his new role as protector, there were things it _was_ his place to know. And at that moment, one question trumped all the rest.

"You know my name," Conrart said, keeping his tone light and a placid expression on his face as he leaned closer, the better to maintain the illusion. "But I have not yet been granted the privilege of your own."

The man beside him blanched, looking for a moment as if he had been struck.

Conrart reacted without thinking, tugging the man close into what appeared to be an embrace from an outside perspective. In reality, it allowed Conrart to shield the man while assessing for threats.

"No, I'm fine," the man muttered into his chest. "I…Yuuri. My name is Yuuri."

Conrart waited for a family name, a title, but it soon became clear that more was not forthcoming. Conrart found himself almost approving. For all that he would not harm Yuuri, the young man had no way of knowing he could be trusted. He would simply have to prove to Yuuri that Conrart would keep his confidences safe as well as his person. Still, there was some information he felt compelled to press for.

"Who were they, Yuuri?" Conrart asked, once again fighting to keep his voice even and expression bland at the memory of the men who had pursued Yuuri.

Yuuri's eyes fell, and Conrart could feel the man begin to withdraw, both emotionally and physically. Conrart tightened his grip, pulling Yuuri tight up against his chest, relishing the warmth of him. Reaching down, he angled Yuuri's face upwards once again, forcing their eyes to meet. Yuuri had honest eyes, and Conrart wanted the truth. Sparing a quick thought for the sight they must make, he reached out to brush Yuuri's hair back from his face, allowing his hand to cup Yuuri's cheek. Yuuri's skin was smooth and warm against his palm, but even that could not distract him from what Yuuri's hair had felt like against his fingers.

Dye, or a wig. Conrart was not certain which. He _was_ certain that this was not Yuuri's natural hair.

_Who are you Yuuri?_ Conrart wondered. _What are you hiding from_?

Conrart knew at least part of the answer to the second question. "Those men were trying to kill you," he said, and his voice was cold even to his own ears.

Yuuri's eyes slid down, but a slight increase in the pressure from the palm against his cheek had those eyes locked on Conrart's once again.

"Yes," he said softly, and those eyes were indignant, hurt, and resigned all at once. But under that, as if Yuuri were trying to hide it, they were above all, scared.

There was more he needed to know, but it was paramount he get Yuuri off the streets. Still, that fear touched something in him, and he vowed to do everything he could to banish it.

"I will protect you," Conrart promised, staring into those eyes.

They widened in surprise before filling with an affection that tugged at Conrart's heart in unfamiliar ways.

"I know you will," Yuuri replied, his voice fond, and his cheek as he pressed it more firmly against Conrart's palm was almost as warm as his smile.

And with that smile, with that tender display of trust, Conrart felt the walls he had so carefully cultivated around his heart come tumbling down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all so much for the feedback on the last chapter. It always makes me smile to see the review notification in my inbox. And thanks to everyone who favorited and subscribed to this story! I hope it doesn't disappoint. Sorry about the delay in updating, but school's been crazy. I'm on break now, though, and I'll try and update at least once more before I go back.**

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Conrart pressed himself against the wall, his hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword as he peered out the window into the street. His sharp eyes spotted nothing out of the ordinary in the street below. He let the curtain fall back and allowed his hand to relax, but that was as far as he permitted his guard to fall. Yuuri's life was in danger, and he would not allow himself to forget that for even a moment.

He turned, propping himself up against the wall so that he could see out the window from the corner of his eye and crossed his arms, bringing his dominant hand all the closer to his sword. His gaze, however, was fixed unerringly on the man he had sworn to protect.

His timing was atrocious. Yuuri had already exchanged his trousers for the pair that had been purchased in town, but Conrart had turned just in time to see the stained, battered undershirt clear Yuuri's shoulders.

Conrart's mouth went dry, and a noise of some sort must have escaped his throat without his consent, because Yuuri turned around, a concerned expression on his face.

"Conrart? Is something wrong?" he asked.

_Yes,_ he thought as he fought to keep his eyes from roaming across Yuuri's exposed skin and hating himself for needing to. _Something is very wrong. _His self control failed him, and his gaze wandered. Any impure thoughts were immediately overridden by what he found.

"You're hurt," he said, voice devoid of both the overwhelming anger and gripping fear that the sight of the small gash across Yuuri's shoulder evoked in him.

He found himself walking forward without conscious thought, eyes roving across Yuuri's body, this time not in a gaze of desire but in a careful search for further injuries.

He found them. The wound he'd noticed first was by far the worst, but Yuuri's upper body was littered with scrapes, scratches, and bruises.

"I'm fine," Yuuri protested just as Conrart reached him. "It's nothing." Yuuri's hands grasped his new shirt and he made as if to pull it on.

Conrart reached forward and grasped his wrist gently but firmly, preventing him from doing so. "Allow me to be the judge of that."

Yuuri's cheeks were stained red and he refused to meet Conrart's gaze, but he nodded.

Yuuri had been correct, the wounds were minor. The worst of them had been the one that had caught Conrart's attention to begin with. Still, the story the marks told was one that filled him with righteous anger. Taking a deep breath and pushing the emotion down, he reached behind him and grabbed his pack without faltering in his examination.

"Umm…Conrad," Yuuri said, his voice soft.

Conrart's eyes drifted back up Yuuri's torso until they met the young man's own.

"Can I get my hand back?" he asked with a sheepish grin, and Conrart felt him tug lightly against the grip Conrart hadn't realized he still had around Yuuri's wrist.

He could feel Yuuri's pulse fluttering against his fingers, and he abruptly released his hand, feeling as if he'd been burned. Conrart tore his gaze away from Yuuri's, focusing on the contents of his pack, taking the opportunity to ground himself. He needed to remain firmly focused on the task at hand—keeping Yuuri safe. Being distracted now could be costly, and Conrart already knew he wasn't willing to pay the price for being less than vigilant.

And if he wanted to protect his charge as effectively as possible, there were things he needed to know. Conrart pulled a few vials out of his pack to treat Yuuri's injuries as he pondered the best way to get the information he needed.

"Conrad, really, I'm fine," Yuuri said, eyeing the items Conrart had just removed. "Those supplies…you should save them for someone who really needs them."

Conrart looked up to argue, but something in the stubborn set of Yuuri's jaw told him it would be useless. Compromise, then.

"Let me disinfect the cut, at least. The rest look like they were…" he struggled to find a word that would convey his meaning without his anger, "circumstantial. But that one was more," his lips curled around the word, "purposeful." He took a moment to suppress the rage before continuing. "Unless I miss my guess?"

Yuuri didn't meet his gaze, nor did he respond. After a long pause, he nodded. It was probably meant to be an affirmation of Conrart's guess, but he took it as permission. Pouring the solution from one of the vials onto a clean cloth, he reached out and gently pressed it against Yuuri's skin.

Yuuri let out a hiss of pain, and Conrart pulled back at once, staring at him concern.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," Yuuri said, shaking his head. "The knife barely nicked me. It just stings."

Conrart pulled his eyes away from Yuuri's face and focused again on the cut, placing the cloth against his skin as carefully as he could.

"How did it happen?" he asked, dabbing carefully at the wound.

"I got separated from my friends and…" Conrart felt the chest under his hand move as Yuuri took a deep breath. "I managed to dodge, and then I ran but…" Another breath, this one more unsteady than the last.

"Your friends?" Conrart's mind flashed back to the comment he'd heard in the alley about separating Yuuri from his protectors. Were these protectors the friends Yuuri spoke of? "Are they looking for you?"

Conrart pulled back, cut well and truly disinfected, and watched with disappointment and relief warring in his chest as Yuuri tugged the fresh shirt over his head.

"I'm sure they are," he said, but his smile was sad. "And they're…very determined. A bit too determined, at times." Yuuri's expression went dark as his eyes filled with pain, his eyes distant. "But… the people you ran into before. They used something, Majitsu or Hojistu, I'm not sure which, and transported me away from everyone." His eyes fixed on Conrart's own and he let out a weak laugh. "A lot farther than I'd thought. I didn't realize quite how far until I ran into you."

Yuuri's breath hitched.

"I…I didn't know where I was and I was worried about everyone and…I thought I really would die and no matter how hard I tried there would be nothing I could do to stop it. And then I saw you and I…" Yuuri's voice broke, and his shoulders shook.

Conrart moved without thought, reaching out and pulling Yuuri to him. He felt Yuuri stiffen in his arms and immediately began berating himself. Stupid, to have assumed that Yuuri would welcome comfort from him, of all people, a human half-breed and a stranger. Foolish to think that even if he desired Conrart's comfort, he would accept it in this form. Pulling away would take a great deal of strength, but Conrart knew he would find it. Just a few moments more. A few moments more of holding Yuuri. A few moments more, and then he could make himself let go.

But in those few moments, Yuuri slowly went from stiff to limp, and his face buried itself in the crook of Conrart's shoulder as his body shook with soundless sobs. His hands fisted in the material of Conrart's shirt and he could feel his collar growing damp. Wordlessly, Conrart reached out, cradling Yuuri's head to his chest with one hand and letting his other come to rest against Yuuri's back.

The sobs eased off in a matter of minutes, and when Conrart reluctantly pulled away to check on his charge, he was shocked to find him asleep. It wasn't so astonishing that the day's events would have left Yuuri drained both mentally and physically. What Conrart marveled at was the trust inherent in such an act. That Yuuri feels safe enough around him to allow himself to be this vulnerable…it was unthinkable.

It took him far longer than it should to gently arrange Yuuri on the bed, pulling the covers over his sleeping form. Conrart lingered at the bedside for a moment, his fingers falling forward to brush Yuuri's hair from his face.

He retreated quickly across the room, placing himself once again on the wall beside the window, staring down at the sleeping figure on the bed. It had only been a few hours, and yet it already felt as if his entire world had shifted, with Yuuri now firmly at the center.

As he stood vigil, Conrart contemplated the problem of keeping Yuuri safe and of getting him home.

He resolutely ignored the voice asking what would become of him once Yuuri was gone.

Conrart Weller's happiness had never mattered. Especially to himself.


End file.
